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When the lower land is flush with the green of trees weighty with leaves from the fingers of each branch. That is when the angels found him
The son of a widowed woman. Riding tall they blinded him with their visage, clad in silver and shimmering.
He sank to his knees the moment they came. Bowing low, his nose level with our kin, they only laughed –
- as would I
Not for so long, their laughs soon turned to question but the boy had no answers, only desires of his own. Grasping each spear, he gushed over their beauty, clutched at their mail and pressed himself to their hardness.
He was filled with want for their likeness.
Of a castle and court they told him, a place for making angels from men.
And what of his mother?
She feared this most of all, though kept a careful secret, her husband – his father long passed – had been much the same as the angels. No braver, more worthy, more famous or feared a knight had ever drawn breath, until he fell. Wounded between the legs his whole body became still and his mind more so.
For love or for hate the boy will be lanced.
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